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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23179930">the thrill of affection</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsettodrop/pseuds/falsettodrop'>falsettodrop</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, Exhibitionism, Finger Sucking, Groping, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Nipple Play, Nonnies Made Me Do It, Objectification, Polyamory, Praise Kink, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex Between Friends, Under-negotiated Kink, Underage Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:55:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,577</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23179930</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/falsettodrop/pseuds/falsettodrop</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie learns self-love with the help of some friends.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Ben Hanscom/Eddie Kaspbrak/Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>376</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the thrill of affection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So apparently my thing in this fandom has become 'character study through porn'. I'm not mad about it.</p><p>Dedications, credits, and thanks go to:<br/>– <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearlshop/pseuds/pearlshop">pearlshop</a>, to whom I owe half my kudos for beta-ing this. You're the greatest cheerleader and editor <i>ever</i>. &lt;3<br/>– <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmyth/pseuds/liesmyth">liesmyth</a>, who reassured me this isn't terrible. Bless you, angel!<br/>– A mysterious little nonnie on FFA who inspired the concept in the first place.<br/>– The xx. I stole the title from their fantastic song, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wl9tcrIeJ48">Say Something Loving</a>.</p><p>To everyone else: please heed the tags before reading. With that being warned, if you still think this is for you, I hope you’ll enjoy it! I wrote this expecting five readers, honestly, so if you do end up liking it, please let me know.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Richie sinks to his breaking point at the Sadie Hawkins dance. To his utmost horror, he ends up becoming the amalgamation of all teenage clichés packaged into one singular, depressing moment: he’s crying under the bleachers, drunk out of his mind, while all of his friends are having fun with their dates.</p><p>He hates himself.</p><p>And he doesn’t mean that lightly. He is not joking. Right now, Richie feels self-aware enough to realize that he truly means it.</p><p>Every single one of his friends had gotten a date to this stupid fucking dance and he couldn’t get one himself. Lisa Jenkins might have asked him whether he had a date yet or not, but he’d seen that the question was some kind of sick joke to her—he could see it in her eyes. He doesn’t even like her. He just feels humiliated, ashamed of himself for his inability to be liked by anyone, point-blank.</p><p>(The girls in his grade don’t interest him. This terrifies him.</p><p>What terrifies him is what that means, what it implies about who he <em>does</em> like. The years have gone by and Richie still can’t bring himself to like a girl, to get it up for any girl when he’s alone in his bed at nighttime—and at this point, he knows what that means. He understands what it meant when he hero-worshipped Bill in the fifth grade, and he realizes what it meant when he caught himself staring at Stan’s lips after he smoked weed for the first time, and he knows what it means when Eddie latches onto him during movie nights and his heart flies into his throat. He fucking knows, okay? He knows.)</p><p>He can’t help the disgust he feels, simply existing in his own body. He hates himself so much. He hates everything about himself, he wishes he could fucking disappear already, and he bets that no one would give a shit if he did. He hates the way he looks and the way his brain works and the people he <em>likes</em> and—</p><p>“Richie?”</p><p>Shit.</p><p>He hadn’t heard anyone walk by. Acting quickly, he hides his face in his sleeve, getting snot all over the cuffs of his shirt. His mother had bought it for him last weekend specifically so he’d look nice at this dance and he’s already ruined it. Fucking typical of him to ruin everything.</p><p>A shuffling noise followed by a familiar voice, this time closer than it had been before, brings him out of his head. “Richie?”</p><p>Richie sucks in a quick breath. He angles his face in the opposite direction and clears his throat the best he can. “Wha’s the plan, Stan?” he tries, realizing only as he’s speaking how much he had to drink.</p><p>He feels the motion of Stan sitting down next to him before he reaches to pull Richie’s arm away from his face. “Hey,” Stan says, “what’s going on?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Richie croaks, voice cracking in the middle. He immediately wants to burst into tears again, but he contains himself at the last minute.</p><p>Stan’s hand settles on Richie’s shoulder. Richie has never cried in front of his friends before, not openly. He viscerally hates showing this depth of emotion. “You’re crying,” Stan states, softly.</p><p>He huffs, then mutters, “Yeah, ‘cause this dance fuckin’ blows.” He pauses, before half-heartedly adding, “Like Eddie’s mom last night.”</p><p>It’s a testament to how uneasy Stan must feel that he doesn’t reply telling Richie to shut his mouth. Instead, he rests his head on Richie’s shoulder and says nothing, the only sounds between them are the commotion of the dance and some sniffling sounds that Richie tries his hardest to contain. It’s fruitless, though; Stan has already seen him crying. He doesn’t know why he’s bothering to hide.</p><p>They stay there for a few minutes until Stan speaks again. “What’s wrong, Richie?” he asks. It might be the kindest voice he’s heard anyone direct at him.</p><p>And Richie is <em>exhausted</em>. He’s so fucking tired and drunk and he just wants to let it out and get past it already. He wants it to be over.</p><p>Maybe telling Stan will make him feel better. Maybe it’ll help him stop feeling so goddamn shitty all the time. Who fucking knows; at this point, he’d take anything.</p><p>He crumbles.</p><p>“M’tired,” he admits. His voice is paper-thin, and he knows his exhaustion can be heard in every syllable, every beat. Stan rolls his head on his shoulder, chin digging into Richie’s arm to watch his face with unparalleled focus. “I am <em>tired</em>, Stan. I fuckin’… I hate being here.”</p><p>They’re so close that he can hear Stan’s breathing patterns change. “Do you want me to take you home?”</p><p>Richie sniffles, unwarranted anger surging through him. “Don’t you have a date?”</p><p>“Oh,” Stan says, like he hadn’t thought of that. “Well, uh, I can leave her—”</p><p>“Don’t do that,” Richie tells him, choking up beyond his control. “Not for me. I’m not worth it. This is your first dance getting a date. I’m not ruining that for you like I ruined it for myself.”</p><p>“I—what? Richie, what do you—” </p><p>“I’m such a sad fucking sack of shit,” Richie cries into his sleeve, miserably, pathetically. He’s cracking and it’s all pouring out, but he can’t bear to look at Stan as he says it. He burrows his face further in his shirt, soaking the fabric with tears. “No one wanted to go with me.”</p><p>Richie waits for confirmation, but Stan doesn’t give it to him. He assumes it’s because he’s agreeing with him, but he’s too polite to admit it.</p><p>“Fuck, Stan,” Richie chokes, gasping into his arm nonsensically. “<em>Fuck</em>! I’m so fucking jealous of you.”</p><p>Stan sucks in a breath. “You’re jealous of me?”</p><p>Richie laugh-sobs into his shirt. “Not just <em>you</em>. All of you. Fuck, you’re all so… so… and I’m just…”</p><p>When Stan replies, he’s confused. “You aren’t making sense, Rich.”</p><p>“Fuck you guys,” Richie spits out, knowing Stan doesn’t deserve what he’s saying at all but too drunk, too lacking in filter to censor himself or to care about the impact of his words.</p><p>“Hey, what—”</p><p>“S’not fair,” Richie slurs, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. “You all grew up to look like <em>that</em>, and then there’s me.”</p><p>This once again prompts no response from Stan, who is likely agreeing with every word that Richie is saying.</p><p>“D’you know how it feels,” Richie heaves, “for all your friends to grow up like that and be the one left out? Left behind? The one that no one wants? The one so fucking ugly he can’t get a date?”</p><p>Stan tries to pull his arm from his face with more urgency, but Richie shrugs him off. “Richie, stop it—”</p><p>“So fucking disgusting,” he continues, “that no one spares him a second glance? Like, ha, Richie’s the funny man, nothing but a goddamn <em>joke</em>.”</p><p>“That’s not true,” he hears Stan reply. His voice rises at the end like he’s about to start crying too, and that’s why Richie finally looks at him. When he does, Stan looks devastated, like Richie’s taken a stone and killed one of the birds he loves so much. “Richie, please don’t tell me you believe that.”</p><p>“Don’t lie to me,” Richie says, between uneven breaths. A sob escapes him and he flushes from embarrassment. “No one wants me. No one is ever going to want me like I want them. The fucking clown was <em>right</em>.”</p><p>“Fucking hell, Rich,” Stan mutters, looking terrified at this statement, which is a double-whammy in of itself, because Stan rarely swears. When Richie meets his eyes, there’s a wet sheen to them. “C’mere, please.”</p><p>Richie collapses, sobbing into the curve of Stan’s neck and bathing him in his drunken tears of self-loathing. In the morning, he might regret this, regret baring his soul to Stan. He might be one of his greatest friends, but Richie has never admitted something as loathsome as this, told another person the darkest truth within him.</p><p>Somehow, by the end of the night, Richie gets taken home and tucked into bed, a glass of water and a painkiller sat on his bedside table for morning usage. He barely remembers the events of the night, other than the vague, cloudy details of him making an ass of himself in front of a friend.</p><p>But the next day, when he thinks about it harder, he’ll think that he fell asleep under the bleachers, tucked against Stan’s body, because what happened next couldn’t have possibly been real. <em>Richie</em>, dream-Stan said, <em>we love you</em>. Richie had sobbed even harder at that, and dream-Stan said, even more fervently, <em>you have no idea, you have no clue, we love you, okay? I can’t believe you didn’t know, Rich. I never knew you felt like this. I’m so sorry.</em></p><p>
  <em>We’ll prove it to you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I promise, Richie, I promise.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You’ll never forget it again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I promise.</em>
</p><p>It was all a dream, though. So it didn’t fucking matter, anyway.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>A week later, things begin to get a little weird.</p><p>It kicks off with a few unassuming compliments.</p><p>One morning at his locker, as he’s shoving the books for his first class into his backpack, Bill knocks their shoulders together in greeting before saying, “Hey, sick outfit.”</p><p>Richie looks down at himself. “This?” he says incredulously, pointing at his clothes for the day: a band tee under an open button-up. It’s basically a variation of what he wears every day.</p><p>Bill nods, shooting him a small smile. “I couldn’t pull it off, but you look good in it, man.” He sounds so fucking sincere saying it, too, and Richie can’t even be entirely taken aback—it’s Big Bill, and he’s always been one of the nicest guys Richie knows.</p><p>Richie snorts, trying to let the compliment roll off his back. In his stoner voice, he says, “Thanks, dude.” He drops his tone and continues, shrugging, “I just grabbed it off the floor, but. Eh.”</p><p>Bill frowns at him, but changes the subject.</p><p>It’s a mild beginning, but that’s where it starts.</p><p>Bev tells him she’s jealous of his lips. Bev. Like she’s not the prettiest girl he’s ever met in his life and the only girl he’s ever really noticed that about. It’s bizarre. Later that same day, Ben says all these nice things about him. ‘Richie, you’re so funny. You’re so smart. And caring.’ Ben. <em>Ben</em> tells <em>Richie</em> that he’s caring. He’s officially living in the Twilight Zone. And then Stan ruffles his hair, just playfully, and proceeds to tell him he’s got great hair.</p><p>(“Huh?” Richie asks, looking at Stan like he’s lost his mind.</p><p>“Your hair,” Stan repeats, reaching up to fix the he’s made with his fingers. “It’s so soft. Wow.”</p><p>He doesn’t know where this is coming from, but sure, he’ll take it. “Thanks?” he says. It comes out like a question. He can’t tell how he feels; it’s an odd combination of uncomfortable and flattered. “It’s all the grease. Y’know. Makes it <em>real</em> soft.”</p><p>Stan gives him an unreadable look, but doesn’t push it further.)</p><p>This goes on for weeks. His friends continue to act weird and they clearly have the wrong person, or have lost their working eyesight, because they’ve never been this forthcoming with him before. He is… well, thrown.</p><p>When his parents are out of the house on a nondescript Thursday, he invites them over to play on the Super Nintendo he got for his birthday.</p><p>As he’s directing them back to his room, he accidentally knocks into one of the door frames. “Shit,” he says, rubbing his arm.</p><p>Mike is the only one who hears him; the others are still downstairs getting snacks. “What happened?”</p><p>“Nothing, just my stupid body,” Richie jokes, laughing at himself. He flops onto his bed and makes sure to leave some space for Mike. “I’m a fucking giraffe, man, I hate it.” He clicks his teeth. “Zero body fat and all limbs, baby.”</p><p>“I don’t think you’re too big,” Mike says, seemingly confused. He rests against the headboard, watchingRichie scoot up to get closer. “I’m taller than you.”</p><p>Richie tilts his head. “Yeah, but you’re, y’know”—he gestures at Mike’s broad shoulders and arms—“like that.” <em>Hot</em>, his mind supplies, but he refuses to say.</p><p>Mike simply looks at him, an all-too-knowing expression on his face, one that makes Richie want to retreat into himself. “You’re the perfect size for me, Rich,” he says. He’s so sweet and earnest, Richie’s too stunned to react before Mike reels him in with one strong, firm arm.</p><p>He goes red, both at Mike’s words and the arm around him. “Aw, Mikey,” he says, words muffled by Mike’s bicep. He squirms a little, but mostly it’s to make himself comfortable. Mike is so <em>warm</em>, he could stay there forever.</p><p>He hears someone else enter the room, but he can’t see who it is from where he’s burrowed in Mike’s arms. “What’s this?” Eddie asks, as his footsteps grow closer.</p><p>“Nothing,” Richie says, at the same time Mike replies, “I’m giving Richie cuddles.”</p><p>Eddie makes an odd noise at the back of his throat. “Back off, Hanlon, he’s mine tonight.”</p><p>Richie snorts, even though his cheeks are burning. He lifts his head to look at Eddie. “That’s what your—”</p><p>“Shut up about my mother,” Eddie cuts in, incredibly fast. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t actually look bothered by the near-joke. “Scoot over, Rich.”</p><p>He does, Eddie scooting in next to him and resting against the headboard. He pulls Richie from Mike’s arms and into his own so Richie’s head is cushioned on Eddie’s torso while his legs hang on to Mike’s lap. Richie nuzzles Eddie’s stomach through his shirt, letting the static in his brain settle as he relaxes into the moment, the warmth. At the back of his head, he hears his gaming console booting up and the rest of his friends shuffling into the room one by one.</p><p>Eddie’s fingers stroke his forehead, pushing hair from where it’s obstructing his glasses. “Good?” he murmurs, petting Richie’s hair gently.</p><p>“Mhm,” Richie mumbles. He opens his eyes to look up at him, realizing that Stan has joined them on the bed and is watching them silently. The others in the room don’t seem to notice.</p><p>“Good,” Eddie repeats, voice lower. His gaze shifts, eyes focused below Richie’s chin, and it’s then that Richie feels one of Eddie’s fingers dragging along the column of his neck, the blunt of his nail leaving a whisper of a trail. He shivers at the feeling and arches up, lashes fluttering beyond his control and eyelids slipping shut. “Oh, God,” he hears Eddie whisper.</p><p>He opens his eyes slowly, blinking up at him. “Hm?”</p><p>Eddie hums, letting his thumb settle against the side of Richie’s Adam’s apple. “Has anyone ever told you that… you have a nice neck?” His thumb rubs at the spot harder, and for some reason, Richie feels all of his blood rush through his ears.</p><p>He must have heard him wrong. All he replies with is, “Um.”</p><p>“It’s nice,” Eddie repeats, almost absent-mindedly. He’s not looking at Richie’s eyes at all—just watching his fingers drag along his throat. “Isn’t it, Mike?”</p><p>Richie’s breath catches. His eyes move to Mike’s place on the bed, stilling when he sees how Mike is watching Eddie’s thumb move. “Yeah,” Mike says, hoarsely. “It is.”</p><p>Instead of just his fingers, Eddie flexes his hand so that it’s resting against the side of Richie’s neck. The weight of it alone turns Richie on beyond belief, and he exhales a stuttering breath, unable to look Eddie in the eyes anymore.</p><p>“Richie, look at me.”</p><p>Richie tries to muster the courage to comply, feeling inexplicably overwhelmed when he does it, despite the fact that nothing has even happened. At least not yet.</p><p>It’s the impending <em>yet</em> that makes Richie nervous, because he knows something is happening right now, that something is going to happen next.</p><p>Momentarily, his resolve slips, needing his best friend. He looks at Eddie and tries to communicate this, hoping he can understand, with just one look. Eddie, as always, does—and says in a private voice, as if Mike and Stan aren’t so close that they can hear their every breath: “You okay?”</p><p>Unfortunately, he asks with his thumb stroking gentle circles into Richie’s throat.</p><p>(Richie might pop the most confusing boner of all time, because what the <em>fuck</em> is going on.)</p><p>In a hoarse tone, he replies, “I’m fine.”</p><p>Eddie hums. His other hand is already petting Richie’s hair, but then he combs his fingers through it, deep enough that Richie feels it when he <em>tugs</em>.. Despite his best attempts, Richie can’t stop the sound that reflexively leaves his mouth—it feels so good, he can’t help himself. Looking away from him is impossible, gaze burning from the look in Eddie’s eyes.</p><p>Eddie exhales, the sound dark and throaty. They’re surrounded, but it sounds like the only noise in the room. “Just fine?”</p><p>Richie can barely speak, but he tries, he does. “I’m good,” he amends, breathless. He’s painfully aware of how turned on he is, and in front of his friends, no less, sporting a semi after some touching and hair pulling.</p><p>It’s then that Eddie’s gaze slides further down. Richie holds his breath and doesn’t move. Eddie will be able to tell that he’s hard.</p><p>There’s barely half a second to panic, because then— </p><p>“Stan,” Eddie whispers, looking Richie dead in the eyes, “touch him.”</p><p>Richie’s heart stops.</p><p>It takes everything in Richie not to pull away to watch Stan properly, unsure if Eddie means what he thinks he means. If he does, then how would Stan know?</p><p>But then Stan’s hand falls to Richie’s dick, wrapping around the bulge with all the fingers of his left hand.</p><p>“Fuck,” Richie blurts, unthinking, lashes fluttering and about to sink into the feeling of it, before he remembers:</p>
<ol>
<li>His other friends are in the room, and can hear what’s happening;</li>
<li>Eddie and Mike can both see the way that Stan is touching him; and,
</li>
<li>Eddie straight up told Stan to do it.</li>
</ol><p>And Stan did it without thinking fucking twice, as if there’s nothing out of the ordinary about touching another guy’s dick, as if it’s not <em>gay</em>. He tries to listen to the others in the room, for a sign that they’re still there, but the TV is paused and there’s no sound coming from it any longer—all he can hear distant mumbling in the background.</p><p>Stan’s hand grips his cock tighter through his pants, lewdly cupping him, as Richie grows harder beneath his touch.</p><p>“Stan,” Richie gasps, trying to read his eyes, but he can’t; Stan isn’t even looking at him, not really—his eyes fixed on where he’s cupping Richie’s cock. The sheer desire on his face makes Richie melt beneath his skin.</p><p>Above him, Eddie’s breath quickens. “That’s good, isn’t it, Rich?” Eddie asks, voice heavy with unmistakable want. “Doesn’t that feel better?”</p><p>Richie has <em>never</em> been touched before. Not by anyone other than himself. And Richie is confused, he is, but more pressing than that… is the fact that he feels so utterly fucking good. Who gives a fuck about confusion anymore.</p><p>It feels so unbelievable that he thinks his brain might be melting out of his skull a little bit. His eyes shift from Stan’s concentrated face to Eddie, who’s breathing unevenly, his eyes firmly locked on the way Stan’s hand is gripping over Richie’s pants. Richie is still on Eddie’s lap—he can feel Eddie getting hard, too. He’s hard because of <em>him</em>, because of watching Stan touch him.</p><p>Stan moves, rubbing gently over his clothed dick, and it’s that which makes him let out a whine.</p><p>“Wow, look at him,” Mike whispers, and Richie’s heady gaze shifts over to him. Mike sucks in a breath when their eyes meet—he’s not looking at Stan touching him, but instead, Richie’s face. Richie sees the pink of Mike’s tongue dart out to lick at his lips, that’s when Stan’s hand wraps the best it can around his cock, pulling upwards like he’s jerking him off. Richie whimpers.</p><p>He feels himself getting closer—that’s the thing. Stan’s hand has only been on him for all of two minutes. He’s barely touched him, his hand is light over him, caressing him, feeling the shape of his cock. Richie should feel embarrassed by how quickly he’s about to come, but more than that, he wants it. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to come, if he’s allowed to, or if they even want him to.</p><p>The voices in the background are still there, he realizes, when he closes his eyes to focus on the sensation. He hears Bev and Bill, although Ben is quiet, and Richie wonders if he’s still there. <em>Are they talking about this?</em> Richie wonders; he can’t help it. Are they listening to what Stan is doing to him, watching like Eddie and Mike are, shamelessly?</p><p>Eddie squirms beneath him. “This is so hot,” he murmurs, like the others in the room can’t hear everything that’s going on, like they don’t know what is obviously happening on Richie’s bed. “Stan, rub at the tip.”</p><p>“Eddie,” Richie tries to say when he opens his eyes, but it comes out as a moan. The heel of Stan’s hand presses down on his shaft, and Richie gasps at how good it feels. “Fuck, <em>Stan</em>.”</p><p>“I’m here,” Stan says, hushed as a means of comfort. Like he doesn’t have Richie’s dick in his hand, his thumb lazily circling the head and driving Richie crazy.</p><p>Richie bucks up against the hand and aches for friction, whimpering as he tries to get it.</p><p>“God,” Eddie breathes, voice pitching the same way it does before he becomes more frantic. “He wants to come, he needs it, look at how he’s moaning for it, fuck, fuck.”</p><p>Richie pants, Stan’s hand rubbing along the length of him. “Oh,” Richie moans, as softly as he can, despite knowing the others are there listening, too. “Yeah. Please, <em>please</em>, I want—”</p><p>“Let him do it,” Mike intones, voice pitched so fucking low Richie can barely recognize him anymore. He didn’t think he would ever hear Mike sound like that.</p><p>“Harder, Stan,” Eddie commands, in a rough voice that makes Richie want to explode on the spot. “Make him feel it.”</p><p>Stan obeys, squeezing the tip of his cock in pulsating movements, over and over until Richie shudders, falling apart like this is a dream. He leans into Eddie as his orgasm rips through him, as he coats the inside of his boxers with his come, Mike’s hand soothing him as he rubs at his calf. He tries to pull himself through it, hiding his head against Eddie’s belly to muffle the broken moans that leave his mouth. He’s never felt this good or loved before in his <em>life</em>.</p><p>“Shh,” Eddie whispers, scratching the blunt of his nails against Richie’s scalp like he does sometimes when it’s just the two of them. “You’re good, Rich, you were so good.”</p><p>Richie waits for his breathing to slow to normal, allowing Eddie’s comments to placate him as he gathers himself. With his eyes closed, all he can focus on is Stan’s hand, still touching his cock—God, he probably felt Richie come, felt the way he grew damp and then wet inside his boxers. He touched him through all of that—Stan, clean, orderly Stan, who had always been so particular about what he chose to get his hands on, touched Richie. Willingly.</p><p>Stan removes his hand, and Richie opens his eyes to look at him. “That was good,” Stan says, casually, barely affected save for some pinkness on his cheeks. He doesn’t even say it to Richie, instead looking at Eddie, like they’re talking about their fucking homework. Like this is just something friends do for each other, in front of each other, like it’s normal.</p><p>“Yeah, it was,” Mike agrees. His voice is still low but much more collected than he had been earlier.</p><p>What truly disorients Richie, is Beverly. “Well,” she says, as if unaffected by what he knows she heard, “who wants to play me next?”</p><p>Richie can feel himself overheat from the shame. Fuck, his friends <em>heard</em> all of that. Mike and Eddie and Stan all seemed to be okay with it, but what about Ben? What about Big Bill? As if hearing his thoughts from the other end of the room, Bill replies: “Sure, I’m playing next.” As if they hadn’t just been listening to the sounds of Stan jerking Richie off.</p><p>He’s either woken up in an alternate universe or some evil higher force body-snatched his friends and turned them into pseudo pornstars who want to have sex with Richie, just to play some kind of sick joke on him, because what the <em>fuck</em> just happened.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Unfortunately, Richie doesn’t figure out what happened, because things spiral out of control pretty quickly after Incident Numero Uno.</p><p>He barely has time to think properly about what anything meant or even consider confronting his friends before it happens <em>again</em>.</p><p>(And he’s not… complaining, or anything like that. Not at all. This secret, buried piece of Richie actually likes all of the attention. He’s always loved attention. That is the truth: he craved it, thrived under it, and he constantly annoyed his friends just to be on the receiving end of it—but he didn’t think he liked it so much that he’d want it in this way. Whatever ‘this way’ might be.</p><p>He just doesn’t have any idea what it means. Or why his friends are acting so normal about it.)</p><p>It’s Bill, next.</p><p>It happens in the bathroom, between classes. Richie is in the process of drying his hands when Bill enters the bathroom, banging the door open with purpose.</p><p>Briefly, Richie notes the dramatics—and yes, he’s aware he’s a hypocrite—before he remembers.</p><p>“Oh, hey,” Richie mutters, face flushing and refusing to meet Bill’s eyes. He hasn’t spoken to him since he left the night before; he still feels <em>mortified</em> by what Bill likely overheard, and the mere fact that he now knows what Richie sounds like when he comes. “Don’t you have class next period?” he asks, just to make small talk, even though they never do small talk and he’s perfectly aware that Bill doesn’t have his free period next.</p><p>“Richie,” Bill says, in a voice that forces Richie to look at him. Bill charges forward, taking him aback, walking toward him until he’s forced to go backward, one hand pushing at Richie’s chest until he hits a wall graffitied with cartoon dicks and grade-school insults.</p><p>“Dude,” Richie says, voice shaking. He suddenly feels uneasy. Is Bill mad about what happened the night before? Does he think Richie is gross now? Does he want to yell at him or something?</p><p>“Ben’s outside,” is all Bill says, eyes crazed. Richie is so scared of what he’s about to say that his hands tremble. “He’ll watch the d-door for us.”</p><p>“He’ll—wha—why—?” Richie stutters, before Bill kisses him full on the mouth.</p><p>Jesus <em>fuck</em>. </p><p>Richie lets out a confused, muffled noise against his lips, before Bill pulls back for a moment, eyes glued to his mouth, before instantly diving back in, this time even harder. This time, when Richie lets out a sound, it’s not from being confused. Holy <em>shit</em>, Bill is good at this.</p><p>Richie has never kissed anyone before—let alone someone like Bill. He would have never predicted, even in spite of some dreams he had when he was a kid, that his first kiss would be another boy. Bill, of all people, is the biggest surprise. As a kid, Richie had the biggest crush on him; he basically fucking worshipped the altar of Bill Denbrough. It was a little embarrassing how kid Richie would have done anything both for him, or to gain Bill’s respect. Even now, Richie would gladly walk in front of a bullet for Bill, would allow the fatal metal to wound his flesh, simply to thank Bill for being his friend.</p><p>A part of him will always love Bill like that, their history branding his heart like the scar on his hand.</p><p>So when Bill slips his tongue into Richie’s mouth, lapping at his lips until Richie allows him inside, until their tongues glide along each other and Richie is forced to tilt his head back from how good it feels—he wants it. He wants it when Bill’s hands slide down his spine, lower and lower until he digs his fingertips under the band of Richie’s boxers like a promise. He wants it when Bill waits for his move, breathes hotly against Richie’s mouth until he lets out a small whine and pushes his hips upward, and then when Bill finally pushes lower, grasping Richie’s ass with both of his hands and pulling him in so tight that Richie can feel Bill hard against his thigh.</p><p>Richie gasps, then kisses Bill with more desperation. <em>Yes</em>, he thinks, drunkenly. <em>More</em>.</p><p>Bill squeezes him harder, and Richie breaks from the kiss just to breath against his mouth. The more he touches him, the quicker Richie learns that his skin there is sensitive. He dreamed about someone touching him like this, groping him, but he never knew he’d like it <em>this</em> much. He pants against Bill’s face, knowing that it’s weird to simply share each other’s air, but that he also doesn’t give a fuck anymore—it feels too good to push him away.</p><p>“You’re so f-f-fucking hot,” Bill whispers against Richie’s face, tightening his grip, before pressing an open-mouthed kiss below his jaw. In any other scenario, he might have responded to that with a joke, but his brain is currently offline. The kiss turns into a quick suck, and Richie blindly wonders if he did it hard enough to bruise. He grinds up against Bill’s body, mind swimming with how much more he wants, and then—</p><p>The bell rings.</p><p>Bill’s hands slip out of Richie’s shorts to rub soothing motions along his lower back as Richie breathes slowly, trying to calm himself down because, damn it, he has <em>class</em> next.</p><p>“See you at lunch,” Bill says, stutter-less and annoyingly smug, before pecking Richie’s cheek and fixing the bulge inside his own pants. He darts out of the bathroom like he had never been there in the first place.</p><p>Richie, on the other hand, has no choice but to go into a stall and stay there until his erection goes away.</p><p>(He needs time to collect himself. Both mentally and physically.)</p><p>He ends up in class fifteen minutes late, with frazzled hair and an equally frazzled brain.</p><p>When the bell rings for lunch and he gets to their usual table to sit, the atmosphere between his friends instantly shifts.</p><p>Everyone is already there, looking at him like they know exactly what happened earlier. Bill is too busy shoving baby carrots in his mouth to notice how their friends are watching Richie with hawk-eyes.</p><p>He glanced at Bev, who’s watching him with a slight smirk on her face. It unnerves him.</p><p>“What’s with the look?” he asks, already defensive as he uncaps his water bottle and takes a swig, throwing his head back. He refuses to meet her eyes.</p><p>She leans in and whispers, “Looking good, Tozier,” as if she says that sort of thing to him all the time. It makes Richie choke on his water.</p><p>“Woah,” Ben says from next to him, thumping his back. “You okay?”</p><p>Richie clears his throat, waving off Ben’s concern before turning to look at Bev, confused. She’s never said something so blatantly flirtatious to him before. They don’t really do that with each other, not even as a joke. He looks away to notice Bill, who’s sitting next to her, watching him with a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.</p><p>“So?” Eddie speaks up. Richie jumps, having forgotten he was there. Usually Eddie is loud enough that he’s immediately noticeable, but so far all he’s done is observe them all with silent perceptiveness.</p><p>Richie blinks at him. “So… what?” </p><p>Eddie rolls his eyes in exasperation before looking at Bill. “Tell us.”</p><p>Tell them? Richie tries to understand what he means until it hits him. He looks at Bill, panicked, but he isn’t looking back.</p><p>“He was hot,” Bill replies, like he’s not even there, and Richie forgets how to breathe. “Good at kissing.”</p><p>Richie flushes. Are they really going to… talk about him, in front of him, like this?</p><p>“You kissed him <em>without</em> us?” Eddie asks, sharply, sounding almost jealous about this development. He sinks into his seat, cheeks growing hot. ‘Without them?’ He wanted Bill to kiss him while they were all there? Why is he acting like they’ve all discussed this before?</p><p>Stan seems to notice Eddie’s displeasure, because he knocks their shoulders together. A conversation passes between them, like they’re having an unspoken argument.</p><p>“Fine,” Eddie says, even though Stan hadn’t even said anything. Then, to Bill, he says, calmer, “What else?”</p><p>Bill glances at Richie briefly before saying, for everyone at the table to behold: “He likes it when you touch his ass.”</p><p>Bev cackles at this, and Stan snorts. Ben goes red, unable to look Richie in the eye, focusing extra closely on his sandwich.</p><p>(Richie would very much appreciate the ability to evaporate on the spot. <em>Bill!</em> he tries to shoot with his eyes, but Bill is pointedly ignoring him in favour of his veggies.)</p><p>But Eddie.</p><p>“What?” he asks, much too loud for lunchtime. “You did <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“Not like that,” Bill replies, rolling his eyes at Eddie’s reaction, overtly fond. “I just groped him a little. He liked it a lot. Got really into it, but I barely even touched him.”</p><p>If he’s honest, the attention is weirdly hot. Almost like indulging in a guilty pleasure.</p><p>Eddie seems strangely appeased by Bill’s clarification. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and then he looks back at Richie, eyes blazing. It’s then that Richie holds his breath.</p><p>“I get him next,” Eddie says, tone firm. Putting it out there so all their friends know.</p><p>And Richie feels it, then. His heart. It fills up inside of his chest, expanding from his fondness for Eddie. It swells until it is lodged in his throat, making it hard to breathe, and he must remind himself: inhale, exhale, it will be okay.</p><p>It’s just overwhelming, is all.</p><p>Here is a secret: Richie has wanted Eddie for <em>ages</em>. The feeling blinds him, sometimes, how desperately he aches for Eddie to notice him, to want him back. And here he is, telling Richie he does. Maybe he’s misreading it and this is his hopeless imagination, the part of him that daydreams for it—he’s not entirely sure.</p><p>But Eddie had said the word <em>next</em>. He said it like all of his friends are sharing him between them, taking turns. Fuck. Richie doesn’t know what to do with that revelation. Eddie hadn’t even said it to Richie; he said it to their friends, but he did it for Richie to hear, so that he knows what’s to come.</p><p>Richie is afraid he’s going to have a permanent boner until it happens, just from the sheer anticipation alone.</p><p>His heart rate doesn’t slow for the rest of the lunch period. The conversation carries on, approaching other topics, but Richie doesn’t forget. Can’t forget. He’s scatterbrained for the rest of the period, thinking of the way that Eddie looked at him before he said the words—<em>I get him next</em>. Possessive. Wanting. </p><p>His friends are conspiring to fucking kill him. There’s no other explanation for it.</p><p>The word floats around his head for the rest of the day, taunting him. Next, next, next, he chants. Next.</p><p>Of course, it eventually comes. After school, when he and Bev are smoking at their tree by the forest behind the school. Ben and Stan join them first, sitting nearby and working on a geography thing together while he and Bev gossip about their gym teacher. And then Bill shows up a half hour later, Mike and Eddie in tow.</p><p>Richie grows quiet and tense at the sight of them, Eddie’s promise lingering on his mind.</p><p>“Sorry,” Eddie heaves when he gets off his bike. “We went to grab Mike, but my mom saw us pass by and Bill had to vouch for me.”</p><p>“We’ve just been talking,” Bev says, voice coated with smoke.</p><p>“And smoking,” Eddie notes accusatory, glancing at Richie. He averts his eyes. Bill and Mike have found a place near a different tree, but Eddie approaches the spot next to Richie. “Rich, d’you wanna scoot over so I can sit?”</p><p>“Um,” Richie mumbles, nerves multiplying tenfold. Is it next, yet? Is this when it’s going to happen? He feels like he’s having performance anxiety, if that’s even possible. He wants to make a joke, but all that comes out is, “I don’t know.”</p><p>He peeks up at Eddie, and Eddie blinks down at him. He looks oddly tall from this angle. “You… don’t know?” Eddie repeats, confused.</p><p>(He wouldn’t be as nervous if Eddie had chosen to sneak-attack him like Bill, or if they hadn’t talked about it beforehand like Stan. Knowing it’s coming is the most nerve-wracking part. And Bill told Eddie that he’s a good kisser—but Richie, he didn't know what he was doing when he did it. He just followed along.</p><p>He doesn’t want to disappoint him.)</p><p>Richie shrugs in response, opting to look at the others instead. They’re quiet around them, minding their own business and pointedly looking away, even though he knows they’re listening to their conversation—those nosy fuckers.</p><p>“I’m not gonna kill you,” Eddie says, a laugh in his voice. He says it with caution, as if he understands what Richie is thinking, but he couldn’t possibly begin to relate.</p><p>Richie can’t even laugh at the comment. His shoulders are too wound tight. <em>I wouldn’t be so sure about that</em>, Richie thinks, before saying, dumbly, a non-response: “Okay.”</p><p>“Rich,” Eddie tries, sounding almost hurt. He crouches beside him, leaning on his haunches. “Is this about lunch?”</p><p>“No,” Richie responds too quickly, a blatant lie.</p><p>Eddie observes him for a moment, and Richie tries to meet his eyes, channeling his inner bravery. With a quietness, Eddie tells Richie: “Hey. You know you can tell me to fuck off whenever, right? Same way you always do.”</p><p>“Can I?” Richie whispers, with a pounding chest. He doesn’t know if he could ever say that to Eddie. He doesn’t <em>want</em> to.</p><p>“Yes,” Eddie replies, so serious. His hand goes to Richie’s chin, making sure their gazes stay locked before asking, “Do you want me to fuck off?” He says it gently, with his eyes soft. The way Eddie gets when he’s tired at sleepovers, or when Richie gets him in his lap, cuddling and tickling him to death after his mom has pissed him off, just to cheer him up after a bad day.</p><p>(His Eddie. How can he dare to turn him away?)</p><p>“I don’t want you to fuck off,” Richie says, in a small voice. <em>Eddie</em>, he thinks, knowing he shouldn’t hope for it to be ‘next’, but overcome with it anyway. <em>Please</em>, he prays, as Eddie’s eyes flicker between his own, before glancing around at their surroundings.</p><p>Eddie clears his throat. “Can you guys—?”</p><p>“We’ll block you,” Bill speaks up, not even trying to pretend like he wasn’t listening to them.</p><p>Eddie turns back to Richie, a pensive look on his face. He nods to himself, then says, “Let me sit where you are.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“I’m sitting in your place.”</p><p>“Uh, okay,” Richie says, scooting over. He’s in the sun now, but Eddie sits carefully in the shade, legs extended, tree blocking him from the view of anyone coming toward them. “But, Eds, what about—?”</p><p>Eddie does this cute little smirk, one that makes Richie want to kiss him, and pulls at his hand hard until Richie turns and falls forward into his lap. “Like this.”</p><p>Richie lets out of a stuttered, shocked breath. When he tries to sit up, he realizes that he’s straddling Eddie’s legs, bare knees against the grass on either side of him. “Shit, sorry.”</p><p>“No, this is good,” Eddie says. His arms wound around Richie’s hips, pulling at his body until Richie is over his lap, closer. “Better.”</p><p>For some reason, Richie has never thought about being in Eddie’s lap like this. Most of his fantasies consist solely of simple hand-holding.</p><p>He looks down at Eddie, relaxing into the position. He’s a bit taller than him like this, from the elevation and length of his torso. Beneath him, he can feel Eddie’s thigh twitch. Eddie smiles up at him. It’s a private smile, one meant for only the two of them. “You’re okay, right?”</p><p>Richie hums in agreement, bringing his hands to rest on Eddie’s shoulders. He’s not sure what to do with them. He only had his first kiss this morning.</p><p>One of Eddie’s hands slips under the back of Richie’s shirt. He shivers. Eddie grins at the reaction. “I want to kiss you,” Eddie tells him, softly.</p><p>“You do?” Richie breathes.</p><p>Eddie nods. “You have really nice lips.”</p><p>In the background, he hears Stan mutter, “Do they really need this much foreplay?” Followed by a loud smack and someone shushing him.</p><p>Richie goes red, the reminder that their friends can hear them setting him on edge again. Eddie doesn’t give him time to think of it much, because within the next few seconds, his mouth is pressed against Richie’s lips, in semblance of a kiss.</p><p>An instantaneous bout of lust overcomes him, eyes growing wet in response. He shuts them tightly and sinks into it, pulling back to adjust the angle. Eddie makes a noise and opens his mouth, slickening the kiss with his tongue, both of his hands under Richie’s shirt, stroking the bare skin of his back.</p><p>Richie pulls away and gasps for air.</p><p>“Can you…” Eddie trails off, lids lowered as he looks beneath his chin. He taps at the back of Richie’s thighs. “Spread your legs for me, please?”</p><p><em>Fuck</em>. “What are you gonna do to me?” Richie breathes, eyes bright, high from the short kiss.</p><p>“Touch you,” Eddie whispers against his lips, and kisses him again, deeper, sucking his bottom lip between both of his own. Richie moans at the words.</p><p>Eddie lowers his hands, only palming Richie’s ass through his shorts, until he digs his fingers in. He rests his fingers by the cleft, then slides down, sinking his fingers inside until Richie gasps. He can feel it like this, the tips of Eddie’s fingers brushing by his hole, and he grinds back against the hand. He knows that they can’t actually do much like this, especially out in the open, but the idea of it makes him want to go off in Eddie’s lap, cream the inside of his boxers.</p><p>“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, pressing harder. “Bill was right. You do like this.”</p><p>Richie nods frantically, swooping in to kiss him again, but Eddie holds him back by pulling on his hair. He whines in protest.</p><p>Eddie shakes his head, eyes dark. “No, I want to watch you.”</p><p>His fingers rub at him, and Richie can feel when he grazes him again through the clothes, the sensation of someone touching him there. He moans, rolling against it. They’re blocked by a tree, and the others are surrounding them—it’s not like anyone could see what Eddie is doing from a simple glance, but anyone could walk up to them at this moment. Anyone could come closer, see the way that he’s touching Richie, how normal it’s become for someone to touch his body in front of the others, how desperate he gets for it, how much he <em>likes</em> it. He should feel ashamed, but instead it just makes him want more.</p><p>Eddie keeps touching him and leans up, until his mouth is on Richie’s ear. “We’re gonna finger you one day,” he whispers, like he’s telling him a secret.</p><p>Richie gasps, squirming more urgently against the fingers. “We?” he echoes, voice cracking. <em>Please, please</em>.</p><p>Eddie exhales hotly against his cheekbone. “Yeah, we’re all gonna get our fingers inside you.” Richie groans, the roughness of his voice and the very idea of it making his head spin. All of their friends, sliding their fingers inside of him. Him letting them do it. Eddie’s finger presses against his hole again, sending shockwaves down his spine. “You want that?”</p><p>“Yes,” Richie replies instantaneously, desperately. “<em>Yes</em>.”</p><p>It’s the very idea of that which gets him there, the image of his friends sitting around him, turning him over, presenting him for them to put their fingers inside, watching as they do it, as Richie moans for more.</p><p>“Rich,” Eddie murmurs, kissing the corner of his mouth. The hand not touching his ass comes to press at his front, grasping at the bulge in his pants. He rubs, gently at first, and then tightens his grip until Richie is groaning. “C’mon, Rich, everyone’s watching. Be good and come for us.”</p><p>He wants to be good.</p><p>So he does.</p><p>Eddie rubs him through it, kissing him to muffle his moans. When it’s over, he breathes hard against Eddie’s shoulder, turning his head to get a peek at their friends. They’ve been watching shamelessly the whole time, it seems.</p><p>“Enjoy the show?” Eddie asks, hand still soothing Richie’s back. It’s something that Richie would say, if he didn’t always feel so <em>thrown</em> after every time this happened to him.</p><p>“Yes,” Stan replies, smiling, like he’s amused. Richie turns back to Eddie, but Eddie is looking at Richie’s lap, trying to hide a laugh. He looks down.</p><p>Jesus. He’s going to need to change into the athletic shorts he brought to gym class, because there is <em>no</em> way he’s biking home with a wet spot on his pants.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It happens again, the next day.</p><p>And again, the day after that.</p><p>And the day after that.</p><p>It wouldn’t be a problem if they discussed it, probably, but they don’t speak <em>about</em> it until someone is touching him. Richie doesn’t know how to bring the subject up; he’s not good at talking about things in general, and he doesn’t even know why it’s happening. How do you ask your friends, <em>Hey, is there a reason why you’re all acting like it’s normal to feel me up all the time?</em></p><p>If he asks, he fears it’ll stop.</p><p>He doesn’t want it to stop, is the thing, he doesn’t—it’s weird, he knows, but he likes it more than he thinks it’s weird. He <em>likes</em> what they’re doing to him.</p><p>He doesn’t know why they want him. He wouldn’t want himself.</p><p>Sometimes when they’re at school, Stan will get a hand on Richie under their lunch table, groping him gently over his pants but not doing much else, just rubbing at him to feel Richie grow harder beneath his hand. He does it a lot, actually. It turns into an unspoken routine; whenever Stan is around him, he’s got a hand on Richie’s cock.</p><p>And Mike—he pulls Richie into his lap outside school, behind the tree again, the other Losers blocking them from view. And all he does is hold him, Richie’s back to Mike’s front, before licking the line of Richie’s throat that he can reach, over and over until he’s sucking a hickey at the base of his throat and Richie is whining because—fuck, he’s never gotten a hickey before, but he’ll always accept one from someone as hot as Mike.</p><p>He and Eddie wrestle outside the clubhouse as they usually do, until Eddie twists himself over Richie, pinning his arms above his head, and grinding their dicks together, over and over until Richie comes in his pants like a fourteen year old. And he does it all as he talks to one of the Losers about fucking chemistry class.</p><p>It’s all so <em>ridiculous</em> and hot. And totally fucking weird.</p><p>As the atmosphere between them grows hotter, so does the weather. Summer is on the horizon, and it beats on them all like the midday sun, making the days long, intolerable, and sticky. But none as much as Richie, who unexpectedly becomes the centre of attention to his friends. To cool off, Bev suggests that they go to the quarry—they haven’t been able to in a while, but it’s a rare nice day outside.</p><p>Richie wants to go, but his ever-present self-consciousness flares, eating away at the good he had begun to build up inside himself. It had been easy to put aside his issues when he was in the moment with them. Outside of it was an entirely different story.</p><p>He knows that he’s going to have to take his shirt off at the river. They all do every time—even Bev does, although she always keeps on the bra. Richie hadn’t cared when he was young and all his friends still looked like he did—stunted in growth, just entering puberty, not attractive at all.</p><p>But as the years went by, his friends grew up. Eddie’s legs got stronger, Mike’s shoulders got broader, Ben’s biceps grew tenfold, Stan’s jawline got sharper, and Bill—well, Big Bill was always good looking when he was younger, but now he was properly hot. As was Bev, but he didn’t pay attention to her as much as he did to the others, and a little voice at the back of his head knew exactly why that was the case. All his friends were attractive. It was so fucking unfair; he didn’t even know how to verbalize it.</p><p>Richie wishes he looked like them, that he could still fit into their group, be more than the annoying comic relief that everyone just puts up with.</p><p>(He wonders, then, briefly, if they were only touching him out of pity.</p><p>Maybe it is a pity thing, his brain supplies, maybe they’re doing it because they know that he isn’t like them.</p><p>It’s the only possible explanation, even if it hurt like a motherfucker thinking it.)</p><p>He tries not to think about it once he’s at the river. They aren’t at the cliff this time, instead at the base where the bedrocks turn into trees and grass, a place where they can sit. The moment his friends seem to be distracted, he decides to pull the trigger and stands to take off his shirt.</p><p>When his head comes out the other side, he realizes that Bill is watching him.</p><p>“Jesus, Richie,” Bill remarks, not looking at his face, but instead at his bare skin.</p><p>Richie crosses his arms over his chest, hoping to regain some semblance of privacy, even if it’s hopeless—his friend group never really did privacy, ever. “What?” Richie says, sharp and defensive.</p><p>Bill seems thrown by Richie’s tone before he replies. “Nothing, j-just—your legs, they’re, um—”</p><p>“Long,” Stan supplies, matter-of-fact. The others have started to openly check him out. He wishes the water wasn’t so far, because he wants to dive in and never come out. Stan continues to talk, not noticing Richie’s discomfort. “Like, really long.”</p><p>Richie blinks, shoulders relaxing a bit. Well, he can’t deny that. It’s a fact.</p><p>“You’re really tall,” Eddie breathes, as though he’s only now realizing it, eyes lingering along the length of Richie’s calves.</p><p>Richie ducks his head self-consciously, wanting their eyes off him. “Whatever,” he mutters, feeling both flattered and embarrassed by the attention.</p><p>“It’s not whatever,” Ben says. Richie turns, startled that Ben has chosen to speak up. “Richie, it’s… hot.” He’s gone pink after saying it, like he had to force himself to get the words out, work himself up to it.</p><p>“What?” Richie says, his mouth suddenly dry.</p><p>“He said you’re hot,” Bev repeats, as brash as ever. She smiles when Richie blushes and begins to count. “Hot, handsome, sexy—”</p><p>Richie burns. He’s so angry—at himself for wanting what they’re saying to be true, but even more angry that they’re talking so much shit. “Can you all fuck off?” he snaps, voice harder, angrier, shame creeping inside his chest. He’d been expecting them to say he looks bad, and maybe he could’ve taken that over this, over the blatant lying to his face. “I know I look like a naked mole rat, I’ve looked in the fucking mirror. You don’t have to lie to me like this.”</p><p>His friends are shocked into a momentary silence. Richie almost feels bad for snapping at them, but he’s right. He’s so sick and tired of this game. Of them touching him, and acting like they <em>want</em> to. It’s all been a farce; he knows it.</p><p>“Richie,” Stan begins, sounding unsure. “We’re not—”</p><p>“Shut up,” Richie says, edging into hysterics. “Stop lying, just—stop.”</p><p>“<em>You</em> shut up,” Eddie says, with a fierceness that shuts everyone up once again. “You shut up, Richie, you can’t just say these things. You can’t.”</p><p>And Richie is pissed, pissed that Eddie is trying to tell him what he can or can’t say about himself. “Fuck off, Eddie—” </p><p>His protests die when Eddie cuts him off again, continuing his tirade. “No, I know what you’re going to fucking say, and you’re not allowed to say this shit about yourself. It’s not okay. It’s hurting you, can’t you see?” Eddie is so upset, almost on the verge of tears himself; it shocks Richie into silence. “You aren’t just hurting yourself; you’re hurting us, too. It hurts us when you do this to yourself.”</p><p>Richie’s breath hitches, eyes prickling with hot tears. He refuses to cry, though. He refuses to—he doesn’t cry in front of his friends. Crying is for the four poster clad walls of his room, the sticky slur-covered walls of the school bathroom, and occasionally the clubhouse. </p><p>“We aren’t lying,” Eddie continues, voice registering higher than before. “When we say good things about you—it’s because we”—he shudders, swallows thickly, before saying in an unwavering voice—“because we <em>love</em> you, okay. We want you to be happy. We believe what we said.”</p><p>“No,” Richie argues weakly, winning the award for lamest comeback of all time.</p><p>Mike interrupts them. “Come on, Richie,” he says, more gently than he’s ever spoken to Richie before. “Believe us.”</p><p>“If we thought you were repulsive,” Stan tries softly, in his logical voice, “then why would we touch you?</p><p>Richie sucks in a breath. They haven’t acknowledged it aloud yet, not outside of sex.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he says, feeling more vulnerable than ever. It’s what he’s been wondering this whole time, too.</p><p>“It’s be-because we love you,” Bill speaks up, so sincere that Richie almost believes him.</p><p>“We don’t just love you,” Eddie says, voice more collected now that the others have joined in. “We want you, Rich.”</p><p>A heavy question comes to mind, then, one that he speaks out loud. “Why?”</p><p>“Why?” Stan repeats, sounding offended that Richie’s even asking. “Are you joking? You’re—”</p><p>“Seriously hot,” Bev supplies again, but stops talking when Bill shoots her a look.</p><p>“You have no idea,” Eddie says, steadily. His tone is so honest when he keeps going, making sure to look Richie in the eyes as he says it. “You drive us insane. We want you—all the time.”</p><p>All the breath inside of Richie feels like he’s at the base of his throat, like he’s either going to sigh from relief or choke on it and die. He doesn’t have a choice anymore, whether or not to believe it. He might not believe it himself, about himself, at least not yet, but how can he not believe them all when they say it like this, with such passion and vigor?</p><p>There’s still one question on his mind, though—one weighing on him even more than the simple but complex <em>why</em>.</p><p>“But isn’t it—y’know,” he asks, very quietly, “wrong?”</p><p>The atmosphere around him grows tender, his friends softening as they realize what’s wrong. It’s then that he realizes that his question is telling—now they know what’s inside him, what he thinks about, what he wants.</p><p>It’s Ben that chimes in, his kind voice calming him. “Richie,” he says, with a patience that Richie could never muster. “Does it feel good?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“When we touch you,” Ben explains, ears burning red, like he’s embarrassed to be acknowledging it, “do you like it?”</p><p>Richie swallows. He doesn’t know how to feel, admitting this to his friends—if they know he likes it, will they think differently of him? Less? Will they think of him as dirty, for wanting a boy to touch him the way a girl is meant to?</p><p>He’s silent for a few moments, unsure of what he should do. The waiting overwhelms him, until Bill, always the second bravest, decides to take the plunge.</p><p>“It’s okay if you do,” Bill says, softly, like he knows what Richie is worried about. “We like it, too.”</p><p>“You do?” Richie says, in a small voice, cracking in the middle.</p><p>“We do,” Eddie says next, firmly, like he’s going to personally fight if anyone says otherwise. Then, perceptive as always, “If it feels good, then it isn’t wrong.”</p><p>Richie nods. He doesn’t believe it just yet, but their resolve makes his worries melt, eased by their comforting words.</p><p><em>Focus on your memories</em>, he tells himself, <em>remember that they want you, remember the things they’ve said. Remember how they love you.</em></p><p>It’s hard. It’s so, so hard, and he knows he’s going to need more than just their validation on his road to self-love, but his favourite people loving him—it’s almost enough.</p><p>“We’ll prove it to you, Richie,” Stan says, quietly. He moves closer, a hand on Richie’s back, and the moment reminds him of something he only has a vague recollection of, a moment at the dance when they were alone, and Stan was there. Richie turns to meet his eyes, and he can tell then, when they look at each other, that Stan is thinking of it, too.</p><p>“We will,” Bill agrees, quietly. The quarry overlays the scene; the sloshing water and chirping birds are the only noises louder than Richie’s pounding heart. “Eddie, can you—?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Eddie says from his place next to Stan, standing and circling over to Richie. His friends lay scattered in the grass: Bill and Mike leaning against a tree, Stan sitting on the rock, Bev and Ben strewn across a pink towel. Eddie stands in front of him, looking at him like Richie is twice the person he actually is. He wishes he could understand what he did to make Eddie look at him like that.</p><p>Eddie raises his arm to slide his fingers along Richie’s torso, palm flattening as he goes, hand pressed against his ribcage until it’s right over where Richie’s heart is, beating, pounding, hammering at his chest. Richie swallows, looking at Eddie’s face with unwavering concentration, not wanting to miss the look on his face as he touches him.</p><p>Eddie isn’t looking at Richie’s face, though—he’s looking at his body, at his chest.</p><p>“Your heart is beating fast,” Eddie comments.</p><p>Richie licks his lips. He wants to kiss him again. “Yeah,” he replies, voice quiet, raising his hands to rest on Eddie’s hips.</p><p>“Don’t be scared, Rich,” Eddie tells him, softly. “We love you. Focus on my hands.”</p><p>And with that, his hand slips lower, grazing the bud of Richie’s left nipple with the pad of his thumb, so light that it makes Richie shiver. </p><p>“Eds,” Richie tries, unsure of what he even wants to say.</p><p>“Shh,” Eddie hushes, “let me make you feel good. Get out of your head.”</p><p>His other hand joins the first, thumbing at the nubs so gently, it drives Richie a little mad with want.</p><p>“Richie,” Ben speaks up, softly, from his place on the grass, “watch Eddie’s face.”</p><p>Richie does. He does it because he doesn’t just want to understand, he <em>needs</em> to. He needs to remember that he’s wanted.</p><p>Eddie’s eyes flicker between Richie’s nipples and the expressions on his face. “You see how much I want you?”</p><p>And he does. He can see it in the darkness in Eddie’s eyes, the way his lips part in want, the uneven hitch and rise of his breath. Richie knows Eddie, and he’s a decent liar when it comes down to it, but he’s not <em>this</em> good.</p><p>Eddie has never lied to him, so why would he begin now?</p><p>He can feel Eddie’s nail scratch along one, and he arches in a gasp.</p><p>“Pinch them, now,” Stan says, from where he’s sitting, watching them. “Pull on them until they get pink.” When Richie looks over, the heel of Stan’s hand is resting on the bulge of his swim trunks. Stan is turned on because of this, because of <em>him</em>.</p><p>Eddie pulls both of them, between his thumb and index finger, first easily and then hard, flicking them with the pad of his finger and the blunt of his nail, until Richie is tightening his grip on Eddie’s sides and gasping. He didn’t think he’d be so sensitive to touch, but every time Eddie changes his movements he loses his mind.</p><p>“God,” Bill says in a low voice. Richie closes his eyes and focuses on the sensation. “Suck on th-them, Eddie.”</p><p>Richie moans at that, at just the thought of Eddie’s mouth wrapped around his nipples. Eddie lowers his head to kiss at Richie’s shoulders, laving open mouthed kisses against his collarbone, and Richie raises a hand to grasp at Eddie’s hair for purchase. And then—</p><p>“Sweet fuck,” Bev mutters from where she’s sitting, and she’s right, because <em>holy shit</em>. Eddie licks at Richie’s nipple, pinching the other one in tandem, before suckling it into his mouth, and <em>biting</em>.</p><p>“Oh,” Richie moans, pulling at Eddie’s hair. <em>Eddie</em>.</p><p>He does it again and again. He sucks at the bud until Richie is whining, pressing Eddie’s head into his chest because he needs more. He pulls off with a drag of teeth and switches over to the other one, sucking it even harder than he did the last, soothing it with his tongue, alternating between kitten licks and fat strips. It’s obscene, the noises he makes when he licks at Richie’s chest. He alternates, suckling at both buds until they’re swollen and sensitive and Richie is whimpering from the sensation.</p><p>When he finally pulls away, his mouth is swollen pink, the same colour as the area he’d been working at, spit-shine coating his mouth. And the <em>look</em> on his face.</p><p>“Eds,” Richie chokes out, overwhelmed.</p><p>Eddie leans up to press a kiss at Richie’s jawbone.</p><p>“Jesus, Richie,” Mike says, breathlessly, and Richie’s heart sings happily at the lust in his voice.</p><p>Bev huffs a laugh, sounding turned on herself. “He’s so hot.”</p><p>“Hear that, Richie? You’re so fucking pretty,” Eddie whispers in his ear, shoving a thigh between Richie’s legs, right up against the hard cock in his swim shorts.</p><p>“Mmm,” Richie protests, hiding his face in Eddie’s neck. “No.”</p><p>“Yes,” Eddie argues, fisting a hand in Richie’s hair and pulling until Richie looks him in the eye again. With one hand still on Richie’s chest, thumbs playing with his swollen nubs, Eddie murmurs, “C’mon, tell me how good you are.”</p><p>Richie tries to swallow around a dry mouth. “Tell you?”</p><p>“Say it,” Eddie goads, rubbing harder, rolling his hips to give Richie some friction. “Tell me how good you are.”</p><p>“Nooo,” Richie whines, bucking against him. It feels unreal.</p><p>“Please,” Eddie whispers, so quiet that only the two of them can hear his words. “Please, sweetheart?”</p><p>Richie’s breath lodges in his throat. <em>Eds</em>, he thinks. <em>Eddie</em>.</p><p>“Okay,” Richie whimpers, thinking: <em>As long as he calls me that again, I’ll say anything.</em></p><p>“Yeah?” Eddie breathes. “Say it.”</p><p>“I’m good,” he tries, not entirely believing it. But once the words leave him, a part of him feels lighter—almost as if if he says it enough, he’ll eventually accept it.</p><p>“You aren’t just good,” Eddie soothes, rolling his hips. “You’re perfect.”</p><p>Richie whines, stilling his hips abruptly. He trembles as he leans down to bury himself in Eddie’s neck, wanting to slow down before he explodes again. Eddie pets his hair, rubbing circles into his back.</p><p>“You wanna go back to Bill’s place?” Eddie says in his ear.</p><p>Richie swallows. He <em>does</em>.</p><p>“Just to relax,” Eddie reassures, voice like a safeguard for Richie’s heart. “It’s safe. Private. It’ll be okay. Okay?”</p><p>For once, Richie actually believes him. He leans back and nods, and Eddie kisses him once in reward, sweetly. Richie kisses him back with everything in him, because it’s Eddie. After he pulls away, he turns to the others to find them staring.</p><p>“That was…” Stan says, trailing off, eyes wide.</p><p>Richie swallows at the look on his face, wanting to hide in Eddie’s neck again.</p><p>“Yeah,” Bill agrees, lacking eloquence, chest heaving.</p><p>“Come on,” Eddie says to them all. “We’re going to Bill’s.”</p><p>Under the glow of the sun, they do.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Neglectful parents are horrible and Richie wouldn’t wish them on anyone. He’s seen the way Bill gets when he talks about them, has been there when they’ve had to comfort him through some of the tougher moments. It truly sucks.</p><p>That being said, neglectful parents also mean empty houses. And since Bill doesn’t particularly care about appeasing his caregivers, if you can even call them that, he’s allowing Bev and Richie to smoke in his basement.</p><p>They’re on the floor, Richie lying over Bev’s lap, passing a cigarette back and forth. His friends are on the floor as well, talking amongst themselves as they usually do, Stan with his Rubik’s cube and Eddie leaning over Ben’s shoulder to look at his book. Bill and Mike are talking in low voices about something or the other. Their friendship hasn’t really changed by what they do with Richie, from what he can tell. They’re still the same dorks they’ve always been.</p><p>Currently, Bev is the only Loser that Richie can wholeheartedly relax around, which was technically the entire point of going to Bill’s. He adores Eddie and Bill and Stan, but they’ve all had their hands on him at some point throughout the past week. And Mike and Ben, while not as forward as the others, were still somewhat vocal and shameless in the way they looked at him during the more public moments.</p><p>There is also the slight difference in that Bev is a girl, the others are not. Richie is aware of this fact. Possibly hyperaware, actually. He’s always been comforted by Beverly’s presence. She understands him before he’s forced to articulate himself—she always just seems to know how he’s feeling. It’s his favourite thing about her.</p><p>She doesn’t have a dick, so maybe that’s a plus, too. He’s spent many moments in earlier years trying his hardest to like Bev like that—she’s way cooler than you, he would tell himself, she’s pretty, she’s wicked smart, she’s funny. These are all true facts.</p><p>But he still couldn’t get himself to love her as he wished he did. And he knew why.</p><p>(The words of his friends come to mind: <em>How can it be wrong, if it feels so good?</em>)</p><p>It’s good logic, he supposes. Easier to tell himself than believe in it, though.</p><p>Bev presses the cigarette to his lips for him to inhale. Her fingers smell like smoke. It comforts him, having that to remind him that his friends are the same as they’ve always been.</p><p>“You feeling better?” Bev asks, once he’s taken three puffs in one go. Her unoccupied hand tangles in his hair, rubbing soothing circles into his scalp.</p><p>He pushes into her grip, sighing with pleasure. “Yeah, I’m good.” As he looks up at her, he’s hit with the weight of his gratitude for Bev.</p><p>It seems like Stan has taken note of their conversation, because he butts in. “Are you done hogging Richie now?”</p><p>Richie smiles, feeling pleased and wanted. “Hey, if anything, I’m hogging <em>Bev</em>,” he shoots back, stretching over her lap lazily. “Wanted by all, but she’s gotta deal with this overgrown nerd first. Right, Bevvie?” He grins up at her, but it falters when he sees how she’s staring at him.</p><p>“Hm,” Bev says, eyes tracing Richie’s face. “Nerds can be hot.”</p><p>He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, if you’re like, Clark Kent,” he jokes. Bev’s hand drops to his cheek, and he nuzzles against it.</p><p>“You’re hotter than Clark Kent,” Eddie cuts in, clearly listening to them too. Richie looks over, and Eddie is watching them carefully. “You’re real.”</p><p>“What Eddie said,” Bev says. “I mean… look at you, Richie.” She thumbs at his chin, gripping it with her hand.</p><p>“Unfortunately, I do. Every morning.” He says it, distracted by the touch, unable to help the reflexive self-deprecation.</p><p>“Hey, c-cut it out,” Bill says from where he’s leaning against the wall.</p><p>“Yeah,” Bev says, digging her thumb against his cheek, “or I’ll have to figure out a way to shut you up.”</p><p>Richie blinks up at her. She’s not threatening to kiss him, is she? He doesn’t think it will do anything for him, but he also wouldn’t exactly push her away. It’s Bev. He adores her. Maybe he’ll even like it.</p><p>His breath hitches when her eyes flicker down to them. Distantly, he can hear his friends whisper.</p><p>“Try me,” Richie goads, more out of curiosity than genuine desire. Like when he ate a mashed up chocolate bar off the cafeteria floor, to the soundtrack of Eddie’s screams.</p><p>A strange look passes over her then, one of contemplation and indecisiveness. <em>Do it</em>, Richie tries to tell her with his eyes. It’s time he finds out for real.</p><p>But then she shakes her head, thumb running over his lower lip, back and forth. It tingles. “I’m not going to kiss you. You don’t want that,” she tells him. He flushes, caught, knowing she’s right. “But…”</p><p>He takes in the concentration on her face. “But?” he asks, holding his breath. He’s kind of terrified to hear what she has to say next.</p><p>Her gaze returns to his lips again, and he parts them subconsciously. Her thumb is edging into the split of his lips now, pressing into the skin. Tentatively, she strokes her thumb across his lip again. Right, left, right, left, right—inside.</p><p>Inside of his mouth. Thumb against the flat of his tongue. He lifts his tongue against her finger, applying pressure.</p><p>“Holy shit, Bev,” he hears Eddie say, shocked. “You—”</p><p>“I’m just getting him relaxed,” Bev breathes, as she rubs against the tip of his tongue. “See? He needs something in his mouth. To suck on.”</p><p>Hearing the words makes blood sing through his ears. <em>Bev knows</em>, he thinks to himself, eyes fluttering shut. How does she know what he thinks about, when he’s alone in his bed at night? How does she always know?</p><p>He closes his mouth around her thumb, giving it a hesitant suck.</p><p>“Good,” Bev whispers, pressing her thumb deeper in his mouth, sliding her index finger along with it. “Take what you need.”</p><p>Richie sucks at her fingers harder. He should be embarrassed by the obscene sounds echoing throughout the room, the only noise in the room other than the heavy breathing of his friends. The fact that it’s Bev that’s doing this doesn’t turn him off—he feels safe around her, loved. It’s the simple knowledge that he’s being watched by everyone else that makes his cock twitch, the thought of shutting his eyes and imagining something else in his mouth.</p><p>“Bill, c’mere,” Bev says, breathless. As he shuffles closer, she tells Richie, “Bill’s going to give you his fingers, okay?”</p><p>Richie moans around Bev’s fingers, hips jerking in the air, aching for friction. He wants it. <em>God, Bill, please</em>, he thinks, as Bev’s fingers slip out and leave his mouth gaping open for Bill to slide inside. </p><p>Bill’s hands feel godly, Richie thinks, when his digits enter his mouth. Thick fingers, soft skin, the tang of summer salt on them. He moans, sucking two into his mouth at a time, closing his eyes and thinking, <em>More, more.</em></p><p>“Wow,” Stan says, tone full of wonder. “He really likes that.” Richie whines against the fingers, hoping that they understand what he needs. The fingers are good, but—</p><p>“He wants more,” Mike realizes. When Richie looks over at him in thanks, his mouth is stuffed with Bill’s fingers and there’s drool on his chin.</p><p>“Eddie, g-grab the lube from my b-backpack,” Bill says. Richie’s eyes dart to him in shock, heart racing.</p><p>Bev combs through his hair, pushing the strands from his forehead so she can lean down and kiss his temple. “Eddie’s going to put his fingers inside you,” Bev tells Richie, heat in her voice.</p><p>Richie moans around Bill’s digits, looking at the others, the way their eyes all stay on him as Eddie goes to grab the lube. He thinks about it—fingers inside of him from either end, filling him, using him.</p><p>He’s fingered himself before. It had been good, but not nearly enough; the angle was bad, and he remembers thinking about how much better it would be if someone else could do it to him instead.</p><p>Stan crawls over to him, hands going to his pants. “I’m taking these off, okay?” Stan tells Richie with dark eyes. He cups his hand over Richie’s cock, and then pops the button on his shorts, tugging down the zipper, and both layers in one go. Richie’s cock slaps against his shirt and he moans at the brief friction. He almost wants to hide like this, exposed in front of everyone he loves, but when he looks around, everyone is staring at him with hunger.</p><p>Ben, in particular, is staring at his dick in shock. “It really is that big,” he blurts, going red as if he didn’t mean to say that out loud.</p><p>Richie, for the first time during sex, laughs, muffled around the digits in his mouth. The sense of pride that fills inside him immediately turns to bashfulness when Eddie saunters over and crouches over him, peering at his dick with wide eyes. “It’s nice,” he says, eventually looking at Richie’s face. “One day I’ll make you fuck me with it.”</p><p>Richie groans, loudly. Fuck. He hadn’t even thought of that.</p><p>“Jesus, Eddie,” Bill mutters, sounding amused.</p><p>“Shut up, Bill,” Eddie replies, cheeks slightly pink, uncapping the bottle of lube in his hand. “As if you won’t be there watching.”</p><p>“Can you two shut up?” Stan says. “Finger him.”</p><p>Unconsciously, Richie spreads his legs apart a bit. <em>Yes</em>, he thinks, staring at Eddie’s hands, <em>inside me.</em></p><p>Eddie notices the movement, lip twitching. “You need it?” Eddie asks him, voice low. Richie nods fast, a little too desperate, and Eddie laughs. “God, look how desperate he is for it.”</p><p>“Stop talking and do it,” Mike says. Richie can <em>see</em> the bulge in his pants, and it makes him shiver, knowing that he’s turned on from watching.</p><p>“Hold his legs apart,” Eddie tells Stan, who hoists Richie’s knees up, leaving him spread open and wide for Eddie, naked and thoroughly exposed. Eddie hands the bottle of lube to Stan and says: “When I ask for more, add it.”</p><p>Eddie generously coats his fingers with the slick, rubbing them together. Richie lifts his hips—to help Eddie, or to show he wants it, he’s not sure—but Eddie hides a smile before reaching under, fingers tentatively brushing over the ring of muscle, rubbing at the rim. He pushes back on the fingers instantly, breath stuttering out of him, because <em>fuck</em>, it’s barely anything but it feels good when he has nothing else.</p><p>“Stop teasing him,” Mike murmurs, crawling closer with Ben to see better. Richie heats up at the reminder that eyes will be on him as they do this. They want to watch him get fucked by Eddie’s glorious fingers. “Put them inside.”</p><p>Eddie listens to him, pressing one inside with slow deliberation, watching with parted lips as he sinks it inside. Richie keens at both the feeling and the look on his face, wanting to fuck himself on it desperately, but Eddie’s in control. There’s nothing rushed about the way he pulls his finger back, sinking it into Richie’s hole again, and again, just when Richie starts to whimper because he thinks he’s going to pull out.</p><p>“Jesus, Richie, you’re so hot here,” Eddie says, throatily, eyes on his wet hole as he thrusts his finger, slow and languid, like they have all the time in the world. He works it in and out, further and deeper inside each time, until he slides another digit beside it seamlessly.</p><p>One had been good, but two is unreal. He can <em>feel</em> how tight he is like this, the mouth of his hole stretched tight over Eddie’s fingers. Richie’s mouth slackens at the feeling, forgetting briefly about Bill’s hand. It’s hard to concentrate on both when one feels so good.</p><p>“Fuck,” Richie tries to say around Bill’s hand, mindlessly. His cock lies heavily against his stomach, and it almost<em> hurts</em>, not having someone touch him. “<em>Fuck</em>, it’s so—”</p><p>Eddie works his fingers in and out relentlessly, scissoring them a little, and Richie can practically feel his hole stretching with every jolt, molding itself to Eddie’s fingers, like it should have been all along. Richie drools on to Bill’s hand, suckling at it and Bill slips another between his lips, a reward. Three, now.</p><p>“Good boy,” Bill says. The words make Richie clench around Eddie’s fingers.</p><p>He might just be losing his fucking mind.</p><p>“More lube,” Eddie groans, as he fucks his fingers inside of him.</p><p>He feels it drizzling over him, the wetness of Stan adding the lube. And then, Eddie takes his fingers away. They’re gone.</p><p>But Eddie presses back inside, and—there are three fingers, now. Richie moans, clenching down on them. He suddenly feels impossibly full, overwhelmed by how stuffed he is, Eddie’s fingers inside of him and Bill’s in his mouth. Three fingers on either end of him.</p><p>What did he do to deserve them?</p><p>It’s so much, Richie thinks, drunk on arousal, and he can feel it when his dick spurts pre-come over his shirt, red and untouched.</p><p>“Stan, come here,” Eddie says. “Touch his dick.”</p><p>Stan wraps his hand around the base of his dick, keeping his grip tight as he strokes upward, once. Sweet relief.</p><p>“You like that, Rich?” Bev says from above him, voice honey-sweet as she strokes his hair. Richie bucks into Stan’s hand, fucking his fist, sucking on Bill’s hand, bearing down on Eddie’s fingers. “You like being our little pet, don’t you? You’ll let us do whatever we want to you? Anything?”</p><p>It’s Ben that gasps next, he can tell. “<em>Bev</em>,” he says, in this quiet, shocked voice.</p><p>Stan strokes down again, slowly, then upward, faster, curving his wrist, tugging at his cock with steady movements.</p><p>Bill sinks his fingers deeper, so deep that Richie gags, causing Bill to pull back. “Sorry, sorry,” Bill whispers, brushing a comforting kiss to Richie’s cheek. Richie turns his head to catch Bill’s mouth with his own, kissing him gently, letting himself be kissed back. He only stops after Eddie fucks his fingers inside even harder.</p><p>“Eds,” Richie whimpers against Bill’s lips, voice wrecked from everything they’ve put him through. <em>More</em>, he thinks.</p><p>“What’ll you do when it’s more?” Eddie says, as if reading his mind. “You want a cock inside you, too?”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” Richie moans, thinking about it—the thickness of something bigger entering him, splitting him open.</p><p>“No,” Eddie says, fucking his fingers in and out. “One wouldn’t be enough. You want us all to fuck you. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” Richie cries, shooting off unexpectedly over Stan’s hand, spilling over. Stan strokes him through it, his come making his hand slide over him easily, wet sounds reverberating in the room.</p><p>“We’ll do it for you, Rich,” Eddie whispers, pulling his fingers out, leaving him empty. Richie lets out a dry sob, trembling as his friends try to calm him, kissing him all over, any spot they can reach. “If that’s what you want, we’ll give you anything.”</p><p>Later, the details of what happen next become fuzzy. He’s not sure if he’s living a dream, or if this is his real life, but he’s inclined to believe it’s real. Because when he wakes up, he’s surrounded by them, cuddled under blankets as they’re sleeping around him. And he remembers—</p><p><em>You’re beautiful</em>, Mike and Ben told him, causing tears to sting at his eyes. <em>You were so good</em>, Stan and Eddie whispered into his hip, leaving kisses as they cleaned him off. <em>We love you</em>, Bill and Bev said, nuzzling the crown of his head.</p><p>It’s quite strange how a handful of moments can turn something on its head. Because after years of thinking otherwise—he might just be starting to believe them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Comments are always appreciated! </p><p>
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